A Wild Poppy
by Erimenthia
Summary: Everything changes for a lonely impoverished Poppy when she discovers that the mysterious things that happen around her aren't miracles but magic.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: This is the first real fanficiton I have ever written successfully. This is partly an original story although admittedly partly- based on childhood experiences. I really did have a headmistress this sadistic. I wish I didn't. It's 2009 in this story. It's set in an actual town (no, it isn't my hometown) but all institutions, streets and businesses have different names. **_

_**To you American /non-British readers, year six is fifth grade and also SAT exams in England are these ridiculous exams year six pupils have to take before going to high school in May. It's a way to class you as clever, dumb or average. Erm... so enjoy.**_

**Chapter 1 – A Painting of a Poppy**

From a murky window, Poppy glared at the horizon of Blackburn. It was an ex-industrial scar amongst the rolling hills of Lancashire. The once beautiful moor hills were cross-hatched with rows of terraced houses and abandoned mills. The dreary grey of concrete, the rows of houses, the dark blue of slate roof tiles and the dark grey of tarmac roads. Cars of red, silver, black and blue scurried across the lines of tarmac like scuttling vermin, like rabid rats.

Poppy looked with her soft brown eyes at one of the many buildings in this town, her brother's school. It was only divided from her house by a garden and a road. It was a clump of brick buildings surrounded by rusting chicken wire and shakily-painted bars. A mirage of fake-tanned legs and tan-coloured bags flooded into the huge school gates along with them. Behind them congregated huge gangs of boys, their scent an elixir of stale cigarette smoke and cheap aftershave. Poppy realised that this was the school she would go to next September. She would go to St. Dismas' R.C High School one day. For it was only a few paces from her house.

"Poppy, am I still driving you or what?"

Poppy jumped from the windowsill that she was perched on. Her mother's scream was distinguishable by its brittle nasal quality. "Yeah, mum!"

"Well, hurry up and get ya sorry bum down 'ere!"

A young Poppy sighed and scrambled out of her bedroom through the dirty clothes, books and art supplies. The carpet in the hallway was peeling, leaving the spikes made to hold it down, exposed and ready to pierce her feet. She avoided looking at the peeling wallpaper, a hideous affair from the seventies and continued to skip down the creaky stairs.

"I told ya! Get down 'ere now!" Poppy saw her mother, scowling at the bottom of the stairs. Both of her mother's manicured hands placed on her hips. "Come on, then."

Poppy obeyed her mother and clutched tighter at the bag straps digging into her collarbones. They left the damp semi-detached house, walked through the small front garden in desperate need of weeding to her mother's blue three-door car. The blue body was scratched and speckled heavily with mud.

"What ya waitin' for, you silly girl?"

Poppy opened the car door and dragged the heavy door shut again as she shuffled into the smelly interior of the car. As soon as the mother closed her door, she lit a cigarette. The stale cigarette smoke filled the close, humid air. She then jabbed the keys into the ignition and the engine lazily rumbled awake from its slumber.

Poppy turned to her mother who was more focused on the road. "Mum, are you going shoppin' today?"

"What?" She asked, turning to her daughter, "What are ya talkin' about?"

"I was just tryin' to make conversation," Poppy mumbled as she rested her head on the rumbling car window and kept her mouth shut.

Eventually, Poppy realised that the car had stopped rumbling. Poppy left the car and stepped through the busy carpark, towards her school. She hated school even though it was the best primary school supposedly in Blackburn. It proudly proclaimed on top of the school's official entrance in pleasant blue font, "St. Jude's R.C Primary School". She had realised that the bell must have gone already as they were no uniformed children with freshly brushed hair and new shoes or parents in work suits. All pupils that arrived to school late must all enter through the official entrance to report their tardiness to the receptionist. But most kids called the official entrance 'the grownups door'.

She sneered at the thought of this 'grownups door'. She felt quite patronised; she was capable of entering these doors. They were admittedly heavy for a five year old but all you had to do was read the sign 'Pull' next to the cold thick bar attached to the door. She did just this and surprisingly managed to get in. Now opening the door was the easy part, the hard part was explaining herself to the headmistress.

Mrs. Boris was an incredibly haggard lady with bleach-blonde hair, nicotine yellow skin and a raspy smoker's voice. She had a beak-like nose, a permanent scowl on her face and her nose wrinkled in Poppy's presence. "You're late for the third time in a row this week, Miss Wilding. I'm going to have to ring your mother, young lady."

Poppy piped, "B-but she was the one that drove me here!"

Mrs. Boris scoffed at the child's insolence, "What? Are you speaking back to me, Miss Wilding?"

"No... Miss. B-but..."

"There's no buts! Getting here on time is your responsibility. You do walk, don't you?"

Poppy looked shocked, her mouth turned into a square, she didn't understand. "I d-didn't today though!"

She snorted at Poppy and folded her bony arms, "Stop making up lies. Go to assembly."

"B-but it's finished!" She pointed at the children milling in from the assembly hall into the different classrooms.

"I told you, go!" She stormed off and slammed the staffroom door.

Poppy did not obey the teacher but instead went into her classroom. It was only a few steps away from the office. Poppy looked at the gaudily-bright decoration of the school. Bright blue furniture, canary yellow splattered on the walls and badly-painted flowers of her fellow year six pupils on the display board. Poppy saw her own picture... a beautifully painted bunch of red poppies blowing in the wind amongst the long green grass of a nature-riddled meadow. She tore it from the wall. It deserved to be somewhere better than next to the attempted scribbles of daisies.

Placing her prized drawing back into her school bag, she went into the classroom. All the children sat obediently in old-fashioned wooden desks still with the ink pot grooves in them. Poppy sat in her allocated seat and shoved her school bag into the desk.

The deep male voice of their teacher, Mr Meadows was reading out names. "Oscar Wactor?"

"Present, sir," said Oscar Wactor. This boy was the prized possession of school, priest and parent. With perfectly groomed hair, and daily polished shoes and sparkling white teeth – Poppy positively loathed him. The school said he was a credit to the school when he got a Grade 2 in violin but whenever he played he sounded like a wailing cat dying of tuberculosis. Also, the school loved him when he became the local parish's altar boy despite the fact when he wore the white robes he looked like a waddling marshmellow with a tuft of hair on top. Worst of all, he accidently called Jesus Jebus in a Sunday service.

Mr. Meadows cleared his throat and grumbled, "Poppy Wilding?"

"P-present, sir," Poppy stuttered. Then, she smirked as she recalled her nickname for Oscar Wactor. Our school's wanker. The rest of the class found it hilarious but when the headmistress found it, she wasn't amused. In fact, Poppy got two weeks of detentions for bullying a fellow pupil.

Mr. Meadows began his lesson straight away. "Today year six, we're going to do another maths paper."

Poppy decided to rest her head on the desk. The rest of the class groaned.

"I know... but we have to do it." Mr. Meadows rose from his seat and began to hand out the mock maths papers. When he handed Poppy her paper, he halted and asked, "What's wrong, Poppy?"

Poppy raised her head from the desk and looked at Mr. Meadows' pock-marked face, "I-I... why do we have to do all these mock papers when the test is in May? It's March."

Mr. Meadows sighed and replied, "Because we tell you to."

Poppy's eyebrows creased and she folded her arms, "Why does everybody say that to me?"

Mr. Meadows looked at Poppy sympathetically before warning her, "Poppy, you know what Mrs. Boris gets like when you backchat." He then walked away and gave the remaining pupils in the class the mock maths test.

Poppy wrote down her name and the date, 27th of March 2009 on the front of the paper. Poppy opened the paper and looked at the familiar font. She looked at the first question, "What is longer... one hundred seconds or one minute?" She blinked in horror as the rest of the class were nibbling nervously at their pencils and some attempted to cheat by using a calculator. She figured the answer out within a blink of an eye. It was obviously one hundred seconds because one minute is sixty seconds. She sighed and continued drilling through the rest of the test. She didn't look anywhere apart from the test until the final answer.

She glared at the ridiculous statement in front of her, "Sally says that every four-sided shape must be a square. Is this true or not?" She snorted at the stupidity. Obviously any four sided shape is a quadrilateral... she learnt all about those kites and rhombuses yesterday. She around her class again, everybody including Oscar Wactor was far behind her with their eyes bewildered and restless. She dropped her pencil, the clang echoed through the quiet classroom. Mr. Meadow peered over in her direction and left his desk.

"Are you okay, Poppy?"

"I just finished.... that's all," Poppy explained still looking at her pencil sat on her desk.

"Poppy, I got another paper. Do you want to do it?"

Poppy shook her head but still Mr. Meadows handed her another maths paper whilst taking her completed paper. Poppy began her second test. It was even easier. But this time instead of whizzing through it, she drew detailed flowers blooming and winding around her answers. It occupied her until Mr. Meadow's cleared his throat and announced, "Alright class, here's your next paper!"

Poppy heard him step towards her and he discreetly gave her a third paper. Poppy sifted through the paper and realised she had done this one before but milled through it again anyway. Eventually it was breaktime so she could escape that cramped classroom and breathe the fresh air into her suffocated lungs.

She quickly ran out of the classroom and into the tarmac playground. She skipped past the traumatised five year olds barely brave enough to hopscotch. She ran with her arms flaying in the air onto the grass. She felt the bright sun glint in her hair and creep upon her freckled skin. She smiled. She decided to hide out until breaktime was over in her usual spot, a small clump of trees on the edge of the sport fields. But somebody ruined her plan.

"Hello, Hello. It's povvy!" It was the mocking high-pitched voice of Oscar Wactor.

Poppy ran off towards the breaktime monitors. One of them was clasping a cigarette that they were going to smoke after break. Poppy cleared her throat, "Excuse me, but Oscar Wactor is callin' me names again!"

One of the breaktime monitors just commented, "Do what we always tell you, ignore him."

Poppy stomped infuriated about the apathy of the breaktime monitors. They always reacted the same way. No matter what it was, even when Oscar grabbed one of her bra straps and flung it, they didn't care much.

Again, Poppy's ears prickled at the sound of his mocking voice, "Ooooh, povvy, povvy, povvy. How are you, sweetheart?"

Poppy turned around scowling at him, "What do you want this time, Oscar?"

He grinned manically and began to taunt her, "Oh, povvy. When's the last time you had a bath? You stink!"

Poppy snarled at him. She didn't smell... well apart from her _slightly_ greasy hair. But her mum ran out of shampoo last night, what could she do? Poppy stood her ground and folded her arms, "Fuck off, wanker."

Oscar was taken aback but his lips twisted into something not quite a smile, "You're scum! That's what my mum calls you bunch! You shouldn't even be at this school... you're stupid, filthy and poor."

"You're stupid, filthy, fat and rich!"

Oscar frowned and clenched his fists, "What did you say?"

"YOU'RE STUPID, FILTHY, FAT AND RICH! AND GUESS WHAT MUMMY'S BOY?"

Amazingly, Oscar was not frightened. He looked back to the breaktime monitors who were glaring at Poppy. "Well, Poppy. At least my mummy loves me. She almost put you up for adoption... you know that right? That's what my mummy told me."

Poppy's body now shook and seethed with anger. It boiled to the surface of her skin, her heart rushing and the blood of hatred pulsated through her body. That rush of fear, hate and anger ran through each vein. She hated Oscar with every bone in her body. He was cruel, abusive and worst of all whatever he said he got away with. Suddenly, Poppy launched at Oscar. She pulled him to the ground. It was a panicked scramble of limbs, punches and tugs at hair. Pupils flocked to the display of violence, watching them as if it wasn't real but merely a television show or a boxing match.

Poppy felt a surging strength simmer from her arms, to her wrists and into her knuckles. She felt the brute force that channelled from her torso into her knuckles. Whenever, Oscar rose from the ground... he fell as soon as a single knuckle touched him. Poppy grinned in pleasure as she saw Oscar whimper, his lip bust and his perfect hair flying around his face. His lips uttered pleas for her painful blows to stop instead of the insults passing from them a moment ago. She delivered a final brutal kick to his crotch and stormed off. But then she felt the fierce grip of Mrs. Boris' cold reptile hand on her left shoulder. And Poppy realised what she had just did.

----

Poppy sat quietly whilst she was waiting for the verdict from the staffroom. It was now half an hour after break and she heard shouts from the staffroom. That surprised her. She heard Mr. Meadows defend her against the sadistic headmistress, Mrs. Boris.

Mrs. Boris hissed angrily, "She's a feral brat! Just like her older brother Nathan! She's wild, untamed and an uneducated brute!"

Mr. Meadows growled, "You call a girl that gets full marks in every maths exam an uneducated brute?"

"Ian," that was Mr. Meadow's first name, "I've told you that you ought not to defend that swine of a child. This is the second time this year that she's attacked that boy!"

"But he's... horrible to her."

"But, he's a delightful boy."

"In front of you, yes. Don't you realise that it's an act? Just because his parents invite you for tea..."

"I don't give him special treatment!"

"How about that time you saw him cut her hair? You told him not to do it again and ignored him when he did it again! I'm fed up of your childish denials! That boy's a bully no matter how many dinners his parents feed you!"

There was a moment of silence and then Mrs. Boris quietly threatened, "You do realise I have the power to fire you?"

"Go ahead, then! I'm up to here with your disgusting behaviour!" You do realise that Poppy's got nail marks on her arms thanks to you? If I were headteacher, I'd have you suspended on the basis of assault on a pupil! Hell! The shit you've pulled off in the past should get you dismissed from teaching permanently." Poppy gasped, she had never heard a teacher swear before.

"YOU'RE FIRED!" Mrs. Boris, the hideous banshee screamed.

"WHAT?"

"YOU HEARD ME YOU ACNE-SCARRED MORON! YOU'RE FIRED! ADIOS!"

"You don't even have the power to! Unless you turn the entire of board of governors against me..."

She cackled like a witch, "What? You think I don't have the power?"

"Well, try and persuade twenty parents that I'm a terrible teacher. Please do."

"Well, until then... you're dismissed!"

Poppy heard his angry footsteps from the staffroom and he swung the door open. He halted as soon as he saw her sat just by the office door. He blinked. He stopped looking so angry.

Poppy whimpered, her big soft brown eyes glistening with tears, "I-I'm sorry, sir."

He gave the weakest smile, the slight twisting of the corners of his mouth and gently patted her shoulder in affection. Poppy winced in pain. He said softly, "I wish I could help you more, kid. I really do." He opened the door and walked away, his body a silhouette against the bright March sun. He left just like that. He never came back to school. Luckily, Poppy was the only pupil that knew that she was the one to blame.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 – A Ruby Necklace**

_**A/N: I would just like to prewarn all readers that Poppy's older brother enjoys swearing. Anybody offended by strong Lancastrian accents or excessive swearing must avoid this... Poppy's brother, Nathan is by far a shining example of both these traits. And also Alice in Wonderland is by **__**written by Charles Lutwidge Dodgson under the**__**pseudonym**__**Lewis Carroll**__**, not me. And I'm not making a profit when I reference to his work so don't worry.**_

**Chapter 2 – The Ruby Necklace**

Jabbing a key into the door, Poppy's mother twisted it quickly and pushed the door open. Poppy and her mother were welcomed to a cramped hallway with a plain mirror hanging desolately on top of peeling wallpaper. The house was small, three bedrooms, and reeked of damp.

"You know where you're goin' missy! Up to your bedroom! And if you eva' embarrass me like that again at school, I'll... I'LL..." her mother fumed, her raging screams crawling at her throat and her piercing blue eyes gleaming in fury.

Running up the narrow stairs coated in rough torn beige carpet, Poppy launched into the softness of her small bed and threw her school bag on the floor. Sitting cross-legged, she began to read the nearest book, her favourite 'Alice's Adventures in Wonderland'. It was her favourite as she could picture herself one day plummeting down a rabbit hole and happily living in a place filled with magic, wonder and riddles. Only one thing in it smoked but it was funny because it was a caterpillar not a nicotine yellow banshee called Mrs. Boris.

Poppy read the worn pages with sentimentality. Her delicate fingers tracing the page as if she was stroking the most fragile of petals. She read whilst the long hand danced across the clock face. After finishing the book once again, she placed it back on its resting place, her bedside table. She kicked off her shoes, her feet felt sweaty and swollen. She looked up at the clock on her window, the stubby hand pointing at three. Her brother ought to be home from school in a moment.

Nathan unlike Poppy was not academically successful. He already was suspended two times this year; one suspension was for assaulting a teacher another for setting the fire alarm off to avoid a maths test. Poppy didn't understand what Nathan hated so much about maths. It was easy. Recently, Poppy noticed that he smelt of the same stale cigarette smoke as mother did. But feared of asking about it in case he'd rip up her drawings like he did the last time she asked about his dirty magazine collection.

Poppy heard the front door slam shut and the strong strides of her brother as he ran up the stairs.

He said gruffly, "I 'EARD WHAT YOU DID TODAY, POPPY!" He swung his sister's door open without knocking and raised his hand. Poppy shuffled away from his hand with terror in her eyes.

Nathan grunted in his northern accent, "Wot's wrong wiv' yer? I jus' gonna giv' yer a high five!"

"I... why are you? I'm in trouble!"

"You twatted the shit out of that bible-bashing cunt! I hate his fuckin' older sister Catherine too... right stuck up bitch!"

Poppy blinked at her brother, his recently pierced ears, his spotty face, his devil-bred eyes as blue as their mother's. Poppy gulped, "I didn't mean to hurt him so badly though."

Nathan ignored her and beamed in pride, "I can't believe it, our Poppy banged a lad. I bet he feels well bad, ha! What a fookin' poof he is. Yer can't even hurt a fly, Poppy. How the 'ell did yer do it?"

Poppy shrugged. She just recalled that she put her prized poppy painting into her bag and wonder how crushed it got by now. She sighed. By the time she looked back up, her brother had vanished into the depths of his own lair. Poppy rummaged through her tatty school bag and found her painting. It was slightly creased at the edges but it wasn't beyond repair. She smiled as she stuck it on her bedroom wall with a pin on a cork display board. Poppy found the cork display board in a skip somewhere and kept it on her wall ever since. But she never had much to put on it. Not after her brother tore all her drawings.

"POPPY!" She jumped at the sound of her mother's voice. "POPPY! COME DOWNSTAIRS NOW! IT'S YER DAD!"

Poppy leapt out of bed without her shoes and ignored the pricks from the exposed tackless strips and their pointy nails. She couldn't believe it! Her father was visiting again! She was beaming with happiness and stormed down the stairs and almost ran into her mother.

Poppy couldn't stop grinning at her father. He was a tall but thin man about mother's age. Nathan called him rabbit-teeth because his two front teeth were slightly bigger than normal. Also her father dressed in strange clothes... once he came in this suit that looked suspiciously Victorian with a cape when Poppy broke her leg and went to hospital.

"Nice to meet you, Poppy. How are you doing?" her father said in his sophisticated southern accent. That was something else that Poppy loved about her father. His crisp "t's and "h's" and pronouncing the "ings" at the end of verbs.

Poppy squealed and grinned, "I-I can't believe you're here!"

"It's your birthday in a few days, isn't it?"

Poppy's grin grew wider exposing all of her teeth, "Yeah. I'm eleven!"

"The big eleven, eh?"

Poppy's mother folded her arms, "I don't see what's so special about bein' eleven. You always tellin' me that there's someat special about it for our Poppy."

"It just is, Kim. You'll know soon enough," he explained.

"B-but... why won't you tell me now?" her mother threatened, one hand perched on her hip another clenched into a fist.

"W-well... it just is, Kim."

Poppy's mother groaned, rolled her blue eyes and demanded, "Where's my child support? You haven't been here for six month. Don't give me your excuses about work and all that crap. Cough up the cash..."

Poppy blinked at her mother's callousness. Her manicured hand, her white square fingernail tips and her nicotine yellow index finger lay in the air, cupped and ready to receive any cash.

He rummaged through his pockets and brought out a huge chunk of money tied with a red elastic band. He slowly mumbled as he placed it in her mother's hand. Soon, a pile of old bank notes lay upon her hand. It grew to the size of a mountain and they started to float to the ground.

"You satisfied, Kim?"

She blinked in horror and quickly kneeled down to grab any money on the carpet.

Her father continued, "That's two thousand pounds and a bit extra. Enjoy."

"There's no need to be so sarcastic!"

Poppy's father sneered at her mother, "Kim, can I talk to Poppy alone?"

"Why?"

"Because I want to and the fact I just gave you that much cash doesn't warrant you to be angered by a lack of child support."

Her mother scowled and ran off the kitchen, slamming the door behind her. They heard her groan from the kitchen, "This is a fuckin' conspiracy, this is!"

Poppy sat down on the threadbare couch and beckoned her father to join her. With a slight twitch of his lips and hesitation, he sat down next to his daughter.

Poppy looked at her father, enthralled with his deep and smooth southern accent. His gait and manner were unseen in Blackburn. "So, Poppy, I got you a birthday present. Open it now, if you like." He handed Poppy a present. She took the salmon tissue paper off the perfectly wrapped gift. Inside was a box which she undid the red ribbon of and slowly slid up the lid. Inside was a glinting ruby penchant underneath two delicate earstuds of pure ruby. Poppy gasped. She never had jewellery apart from a few silver studs.

"I heard ruby is your favourite. I am more partial to emerald.... but I thought ruby is more becoming for you. Suits your hair." He said looking at his daughter's auburn hair.

Poppy grinned and said breathlessly, "Thanks so much, dad!" She leapt over the distance between them and gave him a tight hug. She hadn't hugged him for six months.

"Wait, wait, there's more," he handed her an envelope. "I hope it's the right sort of money..."

Poppy peeled the red envelope and tugged out her birthday card. On it was her favourite flower, the poppy, her namesake. She would just be happy with the card alone, or even the fact that her father remembered her favourite flower, colour or gemstone was enough. Her own mother that raised her for eleven years didn't even remember these all the time. But some money fell on her lap.

"Wha-?"

"Well, do something and get it off your lap," her father said, his voice dripping in an irony that Poppy only recently understood.

Poppy lifted the crumbled pound notes from her lap. She counted, twenty, fourty, sixty, eighty, hundred, hundred and twenty, hundred and forty, hundred and sixty, hundred and eighty.... two hundred! Poppy's jaw dropped.

"What is it? Is it the wrong money? I'm sorry if it is."

"I-I-I've never seen so much... money in my life," Poppy shook in amazement. "Thank you very much! THANK YOU!"

He winced at the high-pitched squeals of his daughter, "Just promise me to hide it from your mother. Just pretend I got you the necklace."

"O-okay," Poppy agreed.

"Poppet..."

"Yeah?"

"I've got something else to tell you about. It's very important."

"What is it, dad?"

"Well, you'll get an even bigger present for your eleventh birthday on the... thirty-first of March."

"Is it from you?"

He paused, bit his lip and then answered, "Kind of, I guess. Anyway, I'm just here to tell you that your life will significantly improve by this September."

"Why?"

"That's your surprise birthday present."

Poppy whined, "But I wanna know what will make my life better now!"

"Patience, Poppy, Patience. It's an important virtue. Anyway, just please don't be too shocked about it.... it's a bit more than forty galleons!"

"What..?"

"I mean... two hundred pounds."

"Oh," Poppy replied and looked at the kitchen door, "dad, why are you so strange?"

"That's a lovely thing to say to a person," he drawled sarcastically.

"I...I... don't mean it like that. But you're dead posh and you're well rich! You dress in really posh clothes and stuff. That's strange for me."

"I just am, Poppy. I didn't choose it."

"Can I be like you one day, dad?"

"Of course, you can. Just do as I say, okay?"

Poppy nodded and smiled again at her father.


End file.
